How Happy the Home
by CamsthiSky
Summary: "When Jason climbs in through the window to his apartment, the one thing he does not expect to see is Dick lying on his couch." or Dick is a mess and Jason helps his brother out.


**anonymous asked: 124. "Are you wearing my shirt?" Jason and Dick!**

* * *

When Jason climbs in through the window to his apartment, the one thing he does not expect to see is Dick lying on his couch, arm over his face, wearing—

"Is that my shirt?" Jason asks, bewildered, speaking loud enough that Dick startles upright immediately and gives Jason a wide-eyed stare from the other side of the room. "Are you wearing my shirt?"

"Yes," Dick rasps, and Jason tenses. He hopes this isn't going to be a problem he's going to have to deal with, because he has a date with his bed right now, and Dick Grayson wasn't invited. But, of course, Dick keeps speaking. "Mine was covered in blood."

Jason blinks, and then he blinks again. And then he goes over to the light switch and turns on his living room lights. Which illuminates the room well enough that Jason can see the dried blood on Dick's face, the black eye, and the glazed baby blues that aren't quite focused enough to be called coherent. Looks like that date is cancelled.

"Jesus," Jason breathes, crouching down in front of his mooch of a brother. "What the hell happened to you?"

Dick takes a little too long to answer, but when he does, it's with a grimace. "Would you be mad if I said I don't want to talk about it?"

No. Jason wouldn't. They all have things they aren't ready to spill to anybody else, and Jason knows that Dick is no different, no matter how open he tries to make himself seem half the time. But he also knows that Dick wouldn't have come to his apartment because he'd gotten hurt on patrol, so this is something else.

"I need to know if it's going to be an issue," Jason says after a minute. He tries to keep his voice as calm as possible, because Dick looks either drunk or concussed. Jason would bet on both, if he'd had to. But Jason's never been the best at staying calm. "This is my apartment, Dick."

Dick grimaces again. "Sorry, Jay. I didn't know where else to go."

"Your apartment's not that far from here."

But Dick shakes his head. "That'll be the first place Bruce looks."

Jason gets to his feet, something like rage and disgust bubbling in his stomach. "Bruce did this to you?"

"No!" Dick yells, but he ends up doubled over, coughing his lungs out because of it, and Jason has to crouch down again to help Dick sit back up. Dick recovers, and he looks Jason in the eye again. "Bruce didn't do this. This came afterwards."

"So you two had another argument," Jason says, a sour taste in his mouth. He remembers when the fights used to get _really_ bad. When there would be days and weeks before Dick would even _call_ the manor. Would even call _Jason._ Those days were good, Jason thinks, and the days where Dick was on speaking terms with everyone were even better. "This one didn't get physical, though."

"No," Dick whispers. "It didn't."

Dick doesn't offer up any more information other than that, so Jason sighs and stands back up. "Well, if you're gonna leech off me, we might as well patch you up. Concussion?"

Dick shrugs. "Maybe. I don't remember getting hit in the head."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Most people don't." He helps Dick find his way to his feet, holding Dick up when he starts to sway and lean into Jason. "Come on, Goldie. Let's get you sorted out. And then you can wear one of your _own_ shirts."

"I don't have any clothes here," Dick says, but it's almost too defensive.

"I found your duffel bag last week, Dick," Jason says, helping Dick to sit on the edge of the bathtub. "You didn't even try to hide it that well. Regular people replace the filters in the vents, after all."

Dick sighs, and doesn't say anything for a while. Jason works on his brother's wounds in silence, and when Dick finally speaks again, it's a soft, "Thanks, little wing."

Jason grunts. "I would say any time, but I don't want you back here stealing my clothes again, so stop beating on people in bars when you're angry at Bruce."

"I didn't mean to hit the guy," Dick says, and Jason pretends he can't hear how thick Dick's voice is with emotion. "But he was pissing me off, and everything I told Damian, about not hurting people, about being _better,_ it all flew out the window. And suddenly it was like I hadn't changed even a little bit."

"I think," Jason says slowly, "that maybe you need to talk to Bruce instead of trying to get other people to knock some sense into you." Jason normally wouldn't suggest something that even _he_ wouldn't do, but Dick isn't him. Dick is so much better than Jason. Always has been.

Dick—he looks like he wants to say something. He opens his mouth and then closes it, and then he closes his eyes in frustration and all of the tension bleeds from his body, until he's slumped over himself sitting on the edge of Jason's bathtub. "Bruce is stubborn," Dick says. "But I'll try. Thanks, Jason."

And neither of them say anything more. Jason, only because he's not sure how to call Dick out on his lie. But whatever. Jason's not in charge of Dick, and if the maniac wants to let this thing with Bruce fester, then Jason has no room to talk.

After all, Jason's in the exact same boat, right?


End file.
